The Death of Princess Leia
I’m late to this party—for a couple of reasons.
The death of Carrie Fisher felt raw, but not because I’ll necessarily notice the world without her in it as a dark place. And that makes me feel like a terrible person. But you see—I don’t know her. I don’t. I haven’t read a lot about her. I don’t know her life inside and out. I know she suffered from mental illness and drug addiction and that she was objectified. But I don’t know the specifics. I didn’t track her career—in fact, I had no idea how many scripts she helped write until after she died. (My sympathy with her family, of course.)
Her death felt raw because it meant that Princess Leia died. A fictional character. But I know her. I ‘ve known her since I was a little girl—how cool was it to have a Princess that could also kick some butt? Her strength, courage, and beauty (yes, I said beauty) would become something I would strive for in my characters. I’ll come back to that, because the point I’m trying to make now is that I knew her. I watched the original trilogy over and over again. And when that wasn’t enough, I dove into the Star Wars extended universe (EU). The first EU book I read was The Courtship of Princess Leia. And I tell you, I was 10 times more likely to read a Star Wars book if I knew it was going to feature Leia and Han—and later their kids.
I was so emotionally invested in her. I wanted her to just be happy—and it wasn’t fair, all of the suffering she faced. But instead of breaking, she kept fighting. I knew her. And then the newest episode came out—and she was even further from happiness. They killed Han. (Spoiler, they kill Han in The Force Awakens, but honestly if you haven’t seen it yet, you can’t complain about it at this point.) His death was raw too. But I didn’t feel like the movie gave Leia time and room to mourn like they should have. Yes, she’s tough, but come on. Give the lady a chance to break down just this once. I was sad, but at least we still had Leia!
Then Carrie Fisher died.
And we lost our favorite princess and her smuggler.
That wasn’t how the story was supposed to end. Eventually they were going to have their happily ever after. I was sure of it.
But now they wont. Now they can’t.
The other thing that has held me back from talking about this is that the death of Carrie Fisher has, in a way, launched a new movement in the feminist community. I think it would make her happy. But I’m going to go against the grain here a bit and say that I don’t care—and there are some things that are being said that I downright disagree with. And that’s okay. Because nuance and diversity are okay. Please remember that this is not a political blog.
I don’t want to jump into the whole movement and pick it apart—enough people are doing that, and I don’t think that’s helpful either at this point—because nobody is really willing to listen anymore. (I’m guilty of this too, we all are.) Which I would also argue was one of Princess Leia’s character flaws. She moves with a single-minded bull-headedness through the Star Wars universe—and sometimes that gets her into trouble. Often. (Read The Courtship of Princess Leia or really any Star Wars novel.)
But there is one thing I want to touch on. One thing. And it’s not…well, it’s a matter of semantics, honestly. And I think most of this movement is about words and how we say them. (But again, no one is listening.)
I’ve heard it said that part of the problem is that we will tell our daughters that they are beautiful before we tell them they are smart.
I want to pause here for a moment.
Let that claim sink in.
The implication is that we don’t care about girl’s brains as much as we care about how beautiful they are. That’s the implication.
When did “beautiful” become a dirty word?
When did that happen?
I am here to tell you that I never needed anyone to tell me I was smart. I knew I was smart in third grade. I knew that I could complete my homework if I paid attention. I didn’t need to be told. Tying this back to Princess Leia—she knew she was smart too, and if Han told her she was she would have laughed at him, because of course she was.
But I didn’t always believe I was beautiful. I wanted to believe it. I wanted the people around me to believe I was beautiful. My heart needed that affirmation.
My brain is fine and has a healthy ego (maybe too healthy, and that’s another story), but my heart? My heart works really hard but doesn’t always feel beautiful.
Beautiful is not a dirty word. Telling someone that they are beautiful may turn their day around. When someone compliments my smile or my hair or whatever, it feels good. And there is nothing inherently wrong with that—but we act like it shouldn’t matter.
On the flip side—I guarantee that most of the ladies out there have looked at Han Solo and thought or said, “Wow, he is a handsome specimen of a man.” And they’re right. He is. But I don’t think they’re going to say, “And he’s really smart, too. He’s clever and…” No. It’s true, but we don’t comment on it.
I will say that I have worked with kids that needed extra help learning. We’ve struggled together and discovered how different kids learn in different ways. And it’s okay. So there are instances where kids need to be reminded that they are capable. But there isn’t anything that correlates a kid’s ability to learn to the symmetry of his/her face.
The point I’m trying to make is that people are beautiful. And they’re smart. Or they’re not.
Princess Leia?
She was beautiful, smart, strong, bull-headed, outspoken, and opinionated.
And she will be missed.
